


Deals and Favours

by narsus



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 15:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19833574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narsus/pseuds/narsus
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley aren’t the only ones who have an arrangement of sorts.





	Deals and Favours

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, respective estates, publishers etc.

There are certain rules, and dispensations, in place about access to cemeteries. Something about the combination of consecrated and unconsecrated ground and the way that the worms and maggots move freely between both. Hastur can’t remember the details but it’s some kind of calculation around the volume of soil, pressure of time and the velocity of rot that does it. Regardless, it means that he’s standing in Nunhead Cemetery, one of the so called Magnificent Seven, with no more than shoes and a pair of slightly thicker socks between him and being feet first on blessed earth.

“You’re late!” he yells in the direction of the blinding white fur that’s making its way towards him.

The archangel Michael takes his time making his way over.

“It’s not even cold. What’s that for?”

“Something pure and very sacred died to make this. I’m honouring its memory.”

“Bollocks. It’s a fur coat.”

Michael sniffs. “Your pet got out again.”

“He’s not my ‘pet’.”

“Caused a pileup on the M40.”

“What’s an M40?”

“How should I know?”

“Anyway, he’s not my ‘pet’.”

“You should rein it in.” Michael starts to walk off.

Hastur hurries after him. “Just because he took a chunk out of you-“

“My wing, Hastur! He bit a piece out of my wing! I am an archangel!”

“Yes, and yes, that’d be why. Not sure why you’re pissed off about that again all of a sudden.”

Michael scowls. “I need a favour.”

“Here we go.”

“I need you to make things… difficult for someone.”

“Who is it this time? You have another cat-fight with Gabriel?”

“Who told you that?!”

Hastur holds his hands up in appeasement. “I guessed! It’s always Raphael or Gabriel with you. There’s always something going on.”

Michael fixes Hastur with a long stare. “Fine, it’s Gabriel.”

“And… what do you want me to do about it? I can’t exactly- No. No, no, no. I am not sacrificing one of my best… operatives because the alternative is handbags at dawn. No!”

“I’m not asking you to get your pet to bite him. I just need you to make it… bite someone else.”

“Right.”

“Like perhaps, who is that lesser angel again? I always forget his name. The one with the bookshop.”

“Bite or…?”

“Or something. Just keep him out of commission for a while. If he’s out of commission he can’t be dispensing miracles just when the humans need them most. And if Gabriel can’t keep up with his quota, well, I’ll just have to step in and assist.”

Hastur rubs his forehead. He’d almost forgotten about this. Angel and quotas. How many saved, how many converted through miraculous… miracles. It all fed upstream. It was like a pyramid scheme really.

“Fine.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Yeah. You owe me, alright?”

“Just this once.” Michael smiled beatifically.

It was always ‘just this once’ with him.

“You want me to what?”

Hastur wondered if demons could get migraines.

“I mean, just so I’m clear and all.”

“Just- For fucks sake, Crowley, just do your job!”

“Which is?” A winning smile.

Hastur lays his head down on his desk. A second later there’s the clink of ice in a glass and a gin and tonic pushed towards him.

“Go cause a distraction. For that Angel you spend so much time with.”

“Is that it?”

Hastur waves a hand dismissively and knocks back the glass. At least Crowley knows how to pick a good gin.

A month later they meet in Brompton Cemetery. Hastur is scowling down at the grave of Emmeline Pankhurst when Michael comes to a stop next to him.

“One of yours?” Michael ventures.

“Of course not. Should’ve been though. Could have used her in the Second Rebellion.”

Michael shudders.

Hastur grins at him. “What? It’s true. The Second Rebellion will be glorious.”

Michael chooses not to answer that.

“Anyway, did your job for you, didn’t I? What’s it worth?”

“What do you need?”

“Not sure yet. Might need a miracle in a bit though.”

“How unlike you.”

“Might need to make sure someone doesn’t get to kick my dog before I do, if you get my meaning.”

“Hastur!”

“A deal is a deal, Michael. I scratch your back; you scratch mine.”

“I hope you get fleas.”

The so-called sorcerer almost has it right. Down to the details of the summoning circle.

“A summoned demon is yours to commend unless you stand in Hell’s way!” yells the small man in outrage.

“Only if you can spell properly.” Crowley makes to step out of the circle. He has about two seconds before what, to human eyes, looks like a vast vaguely octopod being erupts from the centre and drags him back in, and then down.

It is most definitely a small miracle that a mere human could have misspelt such arcane words in such a very specific way.

**Author's Note:**

> The summoned demon quote is from Hellraiser: Bloodline.


End file.
